


64. Frost

by rowan_one



Series: Drabble Challenge [2]
Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: Blood, Child Death, Child Murder, Emotional Manipulation, Murder, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 05:19:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6316189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowan_one/pseuds/rowan_one
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's frozen solid, numb to the bone, he can no longer feel the comforting warmth of his organs. He feels hollow, like the contents of his abdomen had been scraped out and thrown away. He knows just who to blame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	64. Frost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exorpriest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exorpriest/gifts).



Snow crunching under his feet as he made his way, steps heavy and final to the surrounding forest. not that he cared to muse or waste his precious time on such a thing. Time. Mephisto always had to flaunt that in his face didn’t ‘e? Locking time limits onto games or bets of his (theirs? He didn’t remember how much of this he willfully agreed to versus had been coerced into at this point.)

He shouldn’t have been able to do that. He shouldn’t be walking away with blood dripping from still dripping, fresh and wet, from the long blade he’d ripped out of the hands of the monks attempting to protect it.

The sword in his hand was empty. Nothing but a toothpick they worshiped,  and yet they called out when he snatched it away from them. It remained empty even as he wiped the fresh blood on the clean snow, marring the perfect, glaring white with red smears before it dried across the blade.

He wasn’t sure why he bothered pretending to give a single fuck what happened to the sword now. It was sharp, cold steel, it did the job it needed _wonderfully_ and now he all the feeling he could muster regarding it was just the sadistic joy he could take out of running it through Mephisto’s torso–another glaring white to mar with the blossoming red.

That would only earn him a sour look. 

He willed his swirling emotions to _shut the fuck up and stop bouncing around his head already._

Inhale. Exhale. He needed a cigarette or twelve. He shoved his hands in an icy snowbank until they went numb. The feeling grounded him. Brought clarity to his muddled senses. 

The bastard was only on Time when it suited him. He was probably waiting until his emotions festered enough to be delectably entertaining.

Shadows played at the edges of his vision, teasing. They all knew they were unable to enter.

But he knew who to exactly ~~blame~~ thank for such a _wonderful_ gift.

For a heart closed off, “protected” he called it. Detached from the little intricacies “those humans” call _emotions._ Detached from a world he no longer considers himself a part of, hadn’t considered himself a part of in years.

He felt Mephisto standing just behind him. He felt it and still jumped a bit, much to the bastard’s delight.

Numb hands fumbled for the sword– he tells himself it’s only out of habit but the other’s eyes sharpen to the same point as the steel held loosely in his hand, and he knows better. The smug twitch of the corners of his mouth lets Shirou know he knows that too. 

It’s gone from the priest’s hands and the hilt is twirling in Mephisto’s (nondominant, although you also know it’s more of a display than anything) hand before he can blink. A key is in its stead. It’s the rusty color of dried blood and Shirou is quick shut his mind off before it goes in that direction. None of his keys looks like this. He doesn’t need to think about why this one suddenly does.

“You really need a fucking bell or something, you know that?” The words are biting but not nearly as much as the wind which whips in his face as he says so.

“And where would the fun in that be, hmm?” His wrist flicks and the blade is pressed under the priest’s jaw. 

He can feel his heartbeat pulse through his jugular.  


“Job well done~! Your reward is a ride home right? Or were you planning on freezing to death out here?”  


It was tempting at this point, but instead he hears his own voice saying, “There’s no door.” 

Skin scrapes lightly against the blade as his jaw moves. Mephisto put it just a hair far enough away that it wouldn’t kill Shirou were he stood, and he knew the piece of shit wanted him to express gratitude for it. 

He can go fuck himself.  


He clears his throat and looks pointedly behind, fixating on a spot just to the left of the other's ear. Shirou’s left hand shoots back and runs smack into a doorknob.

Of fucking course.

The blade is gone in a puff of fruity pink smoke that makes Shirou's eyes water and his throat close up. Turning and attempting to resist a coughing fit, he shoves the key roughly in the lock and all but forces the door open with his full weight. 

Mephisto follows behind and the door slams shut, disappearing.

The secluded area where blood from newborn’s and their mother lays undisturbed behind it. Likely never to be disturbed again, unless the Grigori demanded he bring the corpses to their feet. He’ll do that right after he goes ice skating on a frozen over Hell.

Shirou is left shivering far after he is in the warmth of the building.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment what you think! I had a bit of a writing block on my other work, so I tried another crack at the drabble prompts. Sorry about being rusty.


End file.
